Page 109 of Ours to Lose
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gabe
There wasa stillness to the morning I’d always liked. Those few hours of lag between the sun peeking over the clouds and the rest of the world waking when it was too quiet for even my thoughts to interrupt.
This morning’s sunrise was masked with clouds, the ground still damp from the rain. An orange glow had broken through the gray blanket, slowly burning away the veil to let the first glimpses of daylight through.
I watched with the cold stone of my mom’s grave against my back, an early blossom from her rose garden between my fingers.
It had been a late night at the hospital, mostly watching Dad sleep. The anesthesia had worn off, but it turned out emergency heart surgery did a number on the body. The doctor assured us it was normal and would likely take a few weeks for his energy to fully recover. When it was time to leave, I’d driven Evan home in his car.
Neither of us had said much on the drive. The same was true once we got home. I’d hung out in the kitchen until he’d gone to bed in case he needed anything, then I’d gone to bed myself.
After as little sleep as I expected, I’d walked to the cemetery. The towel I sat on protected my jeans from getting wet, but I welcomed the early morning chill. It sharpened things. Reminded me what was real.
My mom’s gravestone behind me.
That my mom was actually dead.
That my dad had almost died too.
All of it felt wrong. Like the world had been flipped upside down and no one else noticed we were walking on the ceiling. If it weren’t for the sharp sting of cold against my cheeks, I’d be sure this was some fucked-up dream. No matter how much time passed, a part of me still expected to wake up.
Yet oddly, being in the hospital yesterday had made the truth of it easier to accept. Like I was finally walking the steps I’d been meant to take when my mom got sick, and now that they were behind me, I felt closer to her somehow. Almost as if I’d finally been able to put down enough of the shame I’d been carrying by not being there with her that she could fit her arms around me again.
It was like Aubrey had said—love remained after a person passed. I did believe it. I’d just struggled to feel it with my mom.
Ever since she died, there’d been this distance. I had memories of her, but her love—the love I’d always, always known from my mom no matter how many miles separated us—felt out of reach. Like not only did I have to watch the game on TV instead of being in the stands, but then the TV had been locked away in a separate room so all I could hear were muffled sounds.
My dad, Evan, Aubrey—in my head, they were all in the room with the TV, watching the game loud and clear, getting to experience the rush of the plays and the energy of the crowd. None of us got to experience it in person anymore, but I felt like the only one shut out completely.
Why else if not that my mom was mad at me?
Why else if not that I didn’t deserve it?
Yesterday at the hospital, it was like the door had been cracked open. I’d heard the game again. I’d felt her there. And it felt like she was telling me we were okay.
Maybe she had forgiven me. Or maybe she’d never felt there was anything to forgive.
Maybe I was the one who needed to forgive myself.
Here, with her, felt like the place to try.
I couldn’t say how much progress I’d made, but it felt good to sit with her in the quiet. To feel her again, even if it was all in my head.
I told her about London. How I hadn’t minded the weather but had missed good Mexican food. Nothing had come close to the family-owned restaurant in the strip mall here by our house.
I told her about assistant training for Coach Peters. How I’d worried I’d be too bitter about giving up competing to do it well, but it had given me as much satisfaction, if not more. How Noah had made the Olympic team, and I might have been happier for him than I ever had been from one of my own victories.
I told her about my ideas for Coach Lou’s gym. How I’d planned to coach Noah when he went pro, and about the amateur and pro rosters I’d wanted to build. The kids’ summer camp I’d envisioned my pro boxers teaching at.
I told her about Aubrey.
How she’d been a light in the darkness for me the first six months after the funeral. Before that, even.
She’d been the one to pick me up from the airport when I’d finally landed in Philly. My dad and Evan were dealing with the funeral arrangements and things like neighbors stopping by with food, and instead of whisking me away and tossing me into the fray, she’d stood with me in baggage claim long after I’d gotten my bags and hugged me. The same way she’d hugged me yesterday at the hospital when I’d asked.
No words. No accusations. No attempts to make anything better. She was just there. The ropes for me to fall onto, holding me up. Holding Evan and my dad up too.
